


Headfirst Slide into My Heart on a Good Feeling

by orphan_account



Series: 27 [3]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: (These tags sound like a commercial for some kind of medication), Anxiety, Cutting, Depression, Eventual Happiness, First Time, Insomnia, M/M, Mood Swings, Nightmares, Peterick, Pill Abuse, Self-Harm, Stay Strong, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt(s), Triggers, Undertones of Rape/Non-Con (Not in Reality Though), Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4661778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you get yourself into something too deep and you don't realize exactly how far in you are until someone tries to pull you out. Sometimes you resist the help even though you know it's for the better, maybe you need to break before you call it a day and tell yourself, "Now it's time to get better". Sometimes the storm gets heavier when the sky is clearing. Every time you hear "It'll get better" you don't believe them, you're just wondering when you'll make it so bad that there isn't even a chance of it getting better. Just because it's all working out, doesn't mean it's all working out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chasing the Direction You Went

**Author's Note:**

> Bold italicize is Pete, regular italicize is the voice in his head. From this point on it takes place after "What a Catch, I'm the Best You'll Ever Have".

Recap:  
  
  
  
"I love you, 'Tricky." Pete whispers before falling asleep in Patrick's arms.  
  
  
"I love you too, Pete." Patrick pecks him on the lips before drifting off to sleep.  
  
  
  
Present:  
  
  
  
The room feels different, good different. It's morning and the sun is struggling to burst through the curtains. Pete opens his eyes and they get caught on the overhead light that was left on throughout the night. Pete is besides Patrick, still sound asleep, with a hand under Pete, barely moved from the position they fell to sleep in last night. Pete has a complete moment of blank, before his wrapped arm catches the corner of his eye. It all clicks into place; the dark, the razor, the phone call, Patrick coming over, the kiss.  _ **Patrick kissed me... twice.**_  
  
  
  
   
Pete suddenly feels so awake, he leans closer and lays a kiss on his best-friend's neck. Quiet and tender, Patrick doesn't budge.  _He doesn't want this you fucking creep._  Of all the times that voice plays, this is one where he whispers  _ **go the fuck away**_. It can push him into the darkest corners any other time, but it isn't ruining this shot at happiness.   
  
  
  
Patrick makes a small noise, a smile plays on his lips from the soft lips waking him up. His eyes are still shut when Pete straddles his lap without moving his mouth much. He grinds his hard self against Patrick, feeling a reaction from Patrick under him.  
  
  
  
Patrick opens his eyes, shiny from a restful sleep, but those blue-green eyes Pete knows so well soon turn panicked.  
  
  
  
"Pete, what are you doing?" Pete slows his hips, but doesn't stop.  
  
  
  
"You kissed me last night, and said you love me, I want this so bad, I want you. I've wanted you for so long." Patrick gains all his senses when his eyes go alarmed to Pete's crotch, he tries pushing Pete off, Pete stops and takes himself off of Patrick.  
  
  
  
"I didn't think that that kiss would mean this, I'm sorry, and I do love you. We were exhausted so, I didn't really think anything of the kiss. Pete, I'm sorry." Pete would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, he'd also be lying if he said he didn't feel like the biggest perverted fuck up on the planet.  
  
  
  
"Oh, wow, I'm so sorry, Patrick, I just thought.... I always jump to conclusions. Can we try to forget this, I feel like such a pig." Pete sits as far from Patrick as he can while staying on the bed.  
  
  
  
"Don't feel like a pig, I probably would've done something similar if I was in your position.... It's been really stressful for you, so I'm not really surprised you... reacted like that." Patrick sits up, flattening his hair, adjusting his jeans trying to hide his half-hardness, Pete catches the sly movement, but keeps his mouth shut.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, I guess I just got too lonely...." He's never been so dishonest with Patrick before. Patrick tries to pretend that Pete was just lonely, but the words  _I want this so bad, I want you,_  can't seem to stop repeating in his head.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, it happens.... So, uh, when are you going to see your, uh, therapist?" Pete brings his knees to his chest,  _ **yeah, it** just **happens.**_  
  
  
  
"On Monday, so only a couple more days. They're in Round Lake, I really liked them for whatever reason, so I don't care about the drive."  
  
  
   
"That's good. I hope they can help you." Patrick glances at the bandages on Pete's arm to indicate what he's talking about. Pete nods his head in quiet agreement. "I'm really sorry about flipping out on you, both times."  
  
  
  
"It wasn't your fault, I'm a fucking instigator, I have no self-control, I should of thought myself out a little more."  
  
  
  
"Well, shit happens, and I don't want that to ruin our friendship."  
  
  
  
"Exactly."   
  
  
  
"How do your hips feel?" Pete's eyes widen trying to process that it wasn't anything about what just happened, but about last night.  
  
  
  
"Fine, I shouldn't bitch about it, I mean I did it to myself.... You did a good job cleaning them, you should be a doctor." The air eases with a couple chuckles. Patrick talks a little longer, Pete can tell he's still jittery from what he was trying. No matter what Patrick tells him, he still feels like shit.  
  
  
  
"I should get going, maybe we'll do something before we go back to the studio."   
  
  
  
"Yeah, maybe, and thanks for everything."   
  
  
  
"Well, see you around. And yeah, you know, I'm always reachable."  
  
  
  
"I know, I think I get that now. You get going." Patrick pats Pete on the shoulder before walking out of the apartment.  
  
  
  
Pete immediately scrambles for a pen and paper, he starts scribbling:   
  
  
  
_**im getting**_ _ **high off of red lines**_  
_**im letting sunshine shoot into my veins  
yelling 'hey editor im undeniable. hey  doctor im certifiable' (come fix me again)  
trying to cut out my heart but it keeps growing back  
im trying to keep it in a safe so we can all get rich  
my body is an orphanage i take everyone in just so i can bleed them all out   
i hope home isn't where the hearts is, 'cause then were all just fucked  
i look in the mirror and i want to see you next to me  
i must be going blind   
im feeling for a heart that isn't there (much like mine)  
let me be invisible so i can at least pretend (maybe youre just hiding in a different dimension)  
theres a voice in my head that tells me to weigh my options  
it also tells me we should meet in the purgatory of my hips so we can get well  
of all the people in all the world that i could use my scarecrow skills on i chose you, i didnt mean to  
put me in the back of a squad car so i dont do this again   
get me in a strait jacket, i dont want this to be a martyrdom  
i wanna scream i love you, but im afraid someone would hear me (like you)  
ill try to turn my love down like a stove   
i cant explain a thing, i just want everything  
why cant it all just change and stay the same?  
time doesnt care about anyone  
im missing two letters in the alphabet its "u" and "i"   
i took them out and im trying to glue them together but they're going apart at the seams (much like me)  
it seems like everyone has self control but me  
i must confess, im sorta in love with my own sins  
lets go to sleep so we can wake up as someone different maybe id be yours then  
im not even your one and only  
my friends say they only want the best for me (what if i said youre whats best for me?)  
do they know the way the sunshine gleams in your eyes? because i do**_  
  
  
  
He re-reads what he just wrote before putting his red notepad away.  
  
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
  
Pete waits the rest of the day out. Weighing his options, trying to read Patrick's mind from a few miles away. He decided to give him space, he could turn their steady friendship into a complete wreck by getting carried away, and he refused to do that, especially to Patrick. He knows couldn't live with himself if he scared him away.  
  
  
  
The whole earth was predicting this exact situation; Thor is in the sky laughing down at Pete as it rains heavy on the very day he decides to open his curtains. He leaves them open anyway to give him something to gander at while he waits for night, when it's justified enough for him to call Patrick.  
  
  
  
He plays their music all day to hear Patrick, to remind him that he's there, and the only thing that could change that is if he screwed up really bad. Pete always has the secret weapon to getting forgiveness anyway.  
  
  
  
It's a couple of hours till midnight now, he calls Patrick, and it gets picked up on the third ring.  
  
  
  
"Hello?" Patrick says.  
  
  
  
"Patrick, it's me, Pete. I'm calling to apologize about how I was this morning." Pete bites his fingers while he waits for an answer. There is a rather long pause, he can almost hear Patrick thinking this out with such delicacy.  
  
  
  
"Uh, it's alright. I got it, really, like I said earlier, I probably would've done the same thing if I was in your position."  ** _Probably._**  
  
  
  
  
"I didn't mean to scare you, I need you to know that."   
  
  
  
"I know, trust me, I know. You gotta remember how long I've known you, I know you say that you change a lot, I get that it's your moods, but that would never be something you would do, you're a good guy."  
  
  
  
"Okay, I just need you to know that, I don't want to hurt you, physically or emotionally. And that counts for when I punched you, I didn't mean that, I have no idea what the fuck was wrong with me."  
  
  
  
"It's alright, Pete, that's behind us, forget the fight, we both weren't in our right minds, equal parts fuck up."  
  
  
  
"What I was saying was true, though...." Pete trails off.  
  
  
  
"Huh?"  
  
  
  
"This morning, about wanting you, I was just showing it more savagely than I actually meant. It's hard to balance being a hopeless romantic with a dirty mind, you know?"  
  
  
  
"Oh, yeah, I get that too." Patrick's brief answers are making this a little more complicated than he thinks it needs to be.  
  
  
  
"Maybe it's like the same theory as Stockholm syndrome, just instead of falling in love with your captor, you fall in love with your savior, it probably has a name."  _ **I bet it sounds a lot like Patrick.**_  Patrick blushes at the other end of the line.  
  
  
  
"Fall in love?" He asks incredulously.  
  
  
   
"Yeah, you'd had to have known I was at least in love with you, whichever way made the pill easiest to swallow."  
  
  
  
"Oh, I didn't really think of it in that way."  
  
  
  
"I just never knew if I was going to get the same kind of love in return." Pregnant silence holds Pete hostage, and so does all this dancing around the question.  
  
  
  
"Okay."  
  
  
  
"Okay?"  
  
  
  
"I don't know what to say, I'm not really sure what question you're asking."  
  
  
  
"To be straight-forward, I'm asking if you'd ever date me? Hand-holding and going out to dinner, and maybe one day something more, the whole thing. Best-friends but more special than that."  
  
  
  
"I don't know. Don't take that in a 'I don't ever want to' way, but I just don't want us to change, like one of us hurts the other and screws the whole dynamic up."  
  
  
  
"Do you really think I have the heart to hurt you? I won't change,  _we_  won't change. But is that a yeah?"   
  
  
  
"I think so, but I do want to take it slow, so we know for sure nothing will get fucked up before we move forward. And give this some time before we actually say it to the guys, I'm still testing the waters for sure."  
  
  
  
"I understand, I don't want you to just do this for me, I want you to be happy with it, and believe me, I don't just want to get in your pants."  
  
  
  
"I know that's not all you want, and, Pete, I do want this, I'm just not as good as saying it as you are." A tear of relief and happiness runs down Pete's cheek, he can barely contain the excitement inside of him at this moment. "So what do we do now?" Patrick giggles.  
  
  
  
"I'm not really sure, I guess I'll see you at the studio soon?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah, good. Maybe we'll think up something in the mean time. It's really weird how this all seems new even though we've known each other for a decade, you know?"  
  
  
  
"It's definitely strange, but it's actually new to us, so we have an excuse to be weird about this."   
  
  
  
"Yeah, see you soon. Bye, Pete."  
  
  
  
"Bye." They both hang up.   
  
  
  
"Holy shit." He says aloud.  _ **Patrick is my boyfriend... boyfriend... boyfriend.... Mine... Patrick.... Holy shit, Patrick is my boyfriend.**_   _It's going to be fun when you fuck it all up._   _ **Fuck off, you've been wrong so far, so keep your mouth shut.**_  


	2. And I Want it So Bad, I'd Shoot the Sunshine into My Veins

A week before going back to the studio, everyone is catching up with each other. Pete and Patrick haven't really forwarded their relationship much yet, they went out to a nicer dinner and pretended to be civil human beings for a hour or so, they joked about a lot of embarrassing moments they've had. They had been previously joking about when Pete got on top of him, like it was ages ago.  
  
  
  
"It still wasn't as bad as that one time, remember when we were sharing an apartment, and I thought you were asleep, so I tried to go into the bathroom and you weren't asleep, but actually very much  _up._ " Patrick laughs.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, thanks for reminding me. It's really ironic, 'cause I thought you were sleeping." Once they were about to split back home, they agreed that that was the best fun they've had in a long time--pretending to be regular adults. Pete is impressed with himself that he hasn't even tried to make-out with Patrick, just as surprised that Patrick hasn't even tried to make a move.  
  
  
  
Sometimes Pete worries that something might've happened to him that he's taking this much time. Maybe he's just unfamiliar, and this being his best-friend he's being extra careful, possibly even if he doesn't notice taking a rather slow pace to this. Pete ultimately doesn't mind, he wants what Patrick wants, through-and-through. There is always a solution to helping you wait for that thing you want so bad.    
  
  
  
Everything is going so well that Pete even skipped his therapist appointments, and then decide to cancel all of them all together. He ran out of medication only a couple days ago, he feels like this is freedom, but he hasn't realized the cost of freedom yet.  
  
  
  
Once it's back to the studio, the music is amazing, the lyrics are so fresh to the whole band, but familiar, and the whole recording process has never been smoother. Even when they get Brendon Urie to come in and do his part, that goes great.  
  
  
  
The studio is the place of Heaven at the moment. The magical room; the guys think because they're in Chicago with it, the place where it all began.   
  
  
  
One night Patrick decides to stay late and do a few things, and Pete decides to stay behind, making some excuse, like  _I don't want Patrick to get lonely._  Of course that's exactly what this is, but Joe and Andy laughed as if he were kidding.  
  
  
  
Pete just watches Patrick go at it in admirably, not offering help because he knows Patrick doesn't like getting interrupted, I mean who does? Once the small flurry of him dies down, he's chilling on the couch next to Pete, exhausted.   
  
  
  
"You're beautiful." Pete utters.  
  
  
  
"Huh?" Patrick raises his eyebrows, turning his sleepy head in Pete's direction.  
  
  
  
"I don't know, you're just beautiful."  
  
  
  
"Thanks." Patrick smiles.  
  
  
  
"Are you scared?"  
  
  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
  
  
"Everything. Our relationship, do you think this is a mistake?"  
  
  
  
"I don't think this is a mistake. I'm sorry, I've just...."  
  
  
  
"You can tell me, I won't judge you."  
  
  
  
"Listen, see, I've never been with anyone. I'm still a virgin, and honestly, I haven't even had a relationship, I don't know why but it just never worked out for me. I just don't know how I should go about any of this, I'm so new, and your familiar, and I think that this could be a huge embarrassment if I screw it up."  
  
  
  
"In all seriousness, you couldn't do anything wrong,  _especially_  to me, trust me, it's always scary doing all this for the first time, and every time after that." Pete grabs Patrick's hand.  
  
  
  
"I don't know a single thing though, you go into this thinking you know everything, and once you're actually face-to-face with another human, everything you thought you knew is thrown out the window."   
  
  
  
"People that have done these things don't know anything special that you don't, believe me." Pete scoots an inch closer. "Just tell me what you like, and when to stop, I won't get upset, I understand this completely." Pete goes in for a kiss, he leans into Patrick's lips, being as tender as he can manage. Patrick is reluctant at first, but he soon shares his tongue. Pete pulls away.  
  
  
  
"Hmmmm?" Patrick hums.  
  
  
  
"Are you okay with this?" Patrick nods.  
  
  
  
"I'm not like super fragile or anything, I'm just really shy with this."  
  
  
  
"Okay, good to hear." Pete goes back in, cupping Patrick's face with a hand, and rubbing his thigh with the other. He's getting antsy with this noises slipping from Patrick; Pete didn't even know he had this much willpower. He takes a chance and slides his hand onto Patrick's crotch, he isn't surprised with what he feels. "Is this too much?" He mumbles without breaking off.  
  
  
  
"No, I'm good, keep going." Pete does as he rubs him, working off the button with the other two fingers. Pete feels a tingle deep in his stomach, and something below that. He pulls down the zipper and stops again.  
  
  
  
"More?" Patrick nods right away. Patrick adjusts himself so he's catty-corned on the couch. Pete rubs the heel of his hand over the boxers; teasing Patrick, he snakes two fingers into the slit of the underwear, grazing him and getting a better reaction than he thought he would. "Yeah?"   
  
  
  
"Yes, yeah." Pete presses harder, he unbuttons his pants for more room; it's better than popping a button, or getting hurt on the zipper, he decides. Patrick pays close attention to this gesture.   
  
  
  
"Don't worry, I won't do that, I just needed more space." Patrick nods his head in as much understanding he can muster in this moment. Pete keeps his hand where it is and gets himself on Patrick's lap. "Is it okay this time?" Patrick smiles and mumbles something that sounds like  _Mmmhmmm_. He starts working his hips and his hand together, watching Patrick's reaction, and making sure he isn't doing anything wrong.   
  
  
  
"Pete, I don't think I'm gonna last,  _ohh_ ," Patrick comes right there, mouth agape letting out choked noises that Pete assumes are moans. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."  
  
  
  
"It's alright, it happens, don't worry. If anything it's flattering." Pete sits back, and puts his hand down his pants. "Just give me a minute." Patrick comes closer and replaces Pete's hand. "You really don't have to."  
  
  
  
"I want to." Patrick tugs lightly, feeling Pete pushing into his hand a little faster, he catches on quickly and picks up. Pete hooks his chin on Patrick's shoulder, rocking into him.   
  
  
  
"'Trick," Pete can tells he's close.  
  
  
  
The door opens, and Joe comes in.  
  
  
  
"Hey, I forgot my keys." The two bounce away from each other, Patrick getting his wrist stuck in the jeans for a second. "What are you two doing?" Patrick's face is flushed red and dripping with sweat. Pete just stares at Joe from over the back of the couch, in a loss for words. "Ooookay, well I'm here for my keys, they must be somewhere around here. I didn't notice I lost them till I got to the hotel." Joe laughs. He goes searching around near the door. "You two mind helping?" Pete gets up and Patrick follows still a couple of flustered messes, praying Joe isn't as smart as they remember him being. Patrick looks under the least obvious places for keys, Pete retraces steps from last night.  
  
  
  
"Found 'em!" Pete announces.  
  
  
  
"Where were they?"  
  
  
  
"In between the couch cushions." Pete goes over to hand them in.  
  
  
  
"Thanks. Pete, should I ask why your pants are unbuttoned?"   
  
  
  
"I was in the bathroom, I must've forgotten to button it." He fixes it casually, playing the "I wasn't doing anything" role as best he can.  
  
  
  
"Geez, you need to unbutton them too, good for you." They chuckle at that and Patrick just blushes. "How 'bout you Patrick? You look like you pissed yourself." Patrick looks down to see the sticky wet spot on the front of his jeans.   
  
  
  
"Sweat?" He answers gingerly.  
  
  
  
"Are you asking me what it is?" The two catch on that Joe is just pulling their strings, so either Joe knows, or he's just trying to embarrass them with assumptions. "Don't make me go detective and check the cameras of what was going on."  ** _Fucking cameras?_**  
  
  
  
"You don't need to check those, actually get rid of them, why do we have cameras?" Pete replies panicky.  
  
  
  
"Why should I get rid of them? They serve a good purpose if someone ever broke in, wouldn't want our music getting lost." Pete looks back at Patrick, with a face that says  _it's time to come clean_. Rather have Joe know then whoever sees the videos in the morning. Patrick steps up and starts to speak.  
  
  
  
"We were... we were, uh...." Patrick nudges Pete in the arm; Pete looks at the ground and sighs.  
  
  
  
"We're going out, and we were just doing things that shouldn't get caught on camera." Pete discloses.  
  
  
  
"The cameras don't turn on unless you lock up, and they stay on until you hit that one button in that one room around here somewhere. So I'm told. Sounds really high-tech though for a studio in this part of Chicago, if you ask me."  
  
  
  
"I'm going to kick your ass some time." Pete vents.  
  
  
  
"I was just screwing with you, man, I wasn't expecting a confession, although you guys did make this seem really suspicious. So how long have you two been going out?"  
  
  
  
"About a week after the tour ended."  
  
  
  
"Less time than me and Andy thought." Patrick and Pete both shoot a confused look at Joe. "We thought that fight before we got home was because one of you couldn't get it up." Patrick punches him in the arm. "Hey, I know where that hand has probably been." Joe dodges Patrick trying to rub his hand all over Joe's face.  
  
  
  
"So you're not going to get pissed for a relationship inside the band?" Pete asks after the games die down.  
  
  
  
"You two are the exception to the rule. You guys always seem to work it out if you fight, and you're the best working with each other, so I don't think you'll fuck anything up. If you do, though, I'll sick Andy on you."  
  
  
  
"We can deal with that." Patrick nods his head in agreement.  
  
  
  
"Well, now I have to walk back now, so... clean up after yourselves, don't ruin the couch, even though I'm never sitting on it again, and, uh, make it to your rooms safe, well room, and I know you're still staying at your apartment, Pete, so don't get mugged or anything."  
  
  
  
"Thanks." Joe waves and walks out.  
  
  
  
"I guess we should get going too."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, we should. Just so you know I really liked that, until, you know, Joe came in. For the record though, I don't regret Joe finding out, it could've been in a different way, but the general information out there is absolutely fine to me. What I'm trying to say is that I don't regret this relationship at all." Patrick conveys.  
  
  
  
"I don't regret this either." Pete kisses Patrick.  
  
  
  
"Sorry you didn't get to, uh, finish...."  
  
  
  
"Some other time?"  
  
  
  
"Definitely, yeah."  
  
  
  
"See you tomorrow."  
  
  
  
"Yeah, you too." Pete pulls him in for a hug before they both leave the building, waving before breaking off in different directions.   
  
  
  
Pete makes it home quicker than usual, he stops at a convenience store on the way back, buying a pack of box cutter razor blades to replace the one Patrick threw out. He doesn't bother buying other things to make it look less suspicious, he never goes to this store so he doesn't care.  
  
  
  
He gets home, and goes straight for his notebook. He writes all that comes to mind, but suddenly stops when his eyes start welling up at how  _beautiful_  words are. All these lines and symbols, somehow form things we call words. Made up things turned into more made up things that are worth more than any kind of dollar that has been made. Words are what make that money matter. He wipes the few tears away and comes to the conclusion that he's probably like this from coming off his medication.   
  
  
  
By the time he's done with the notepad, he feels like going to sleep; he's surprised the voice hasn't chimed in. He still can't focus though, he can feel himself drifting to the darker side. He opens up that box of blades and cuts away all remaining thoughts that aren't Patrick, leaving small cuts that look more like scratches on his arm  ** _Like I got mauled by a fucking werewolf._ _Big surprise; I turn into a monster when the moon is out._**  He has the advantage of being known as the one to wear a hoodie, so at the studio tomorrow, no one will think anything of it.  _ **This shit is like clockwork.**_  He tastes the blood, again, growing a disturbing liking to the flavor--maybe not disturbing but it's something familiar to him at this point.   
  
  
  
He showers up, watching the diluted red go down the drain. He doesn't clean or bandage them, just leaves them as they are. Pete hits the pillow that smells like Patrick, with a smile on his face, and a well known sting on his arm.


	3. My Mind Is a Safe, and if I Keep It In We All Get Rich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's one of those nights: where the nightmare is you.

_\- (i need you now. come over 2 my place_ _)  
  
  
Patrick comes quickly after he receives that text from Pete. He goes through the unlocked door, peering around the main room to see if he's around.  
  
  
"Pete?" Patrick hesitantly walks to the bedroom, craning his neck to look around.  
  
  
"I'm in here." He let's out a sigh of relief now knowing Pete didn't do something drastic. Patrick enters the room; Pete laying on the bed, arms behind his head in a relaxed looking position. Patrick meets his eyes, and watches as those whiskeys travel down his black skinny jeans. Patrick's shocked that he wasn't expecting Pete to have a  **very**  noticeable hard-on. Pete licks his lips seductively, grinning at the younger man, who has frozen in the doorway.  
  
  
"Pete...?" Patrick says with doubt just dripping from those pink lips.  
  
  
"I was trying to figure out how to feel like I was screwing you, without inviting you over, but I couldn't figure it out. I know you've gotta be one of a kind. So here I am, I wanna fuck you. Hard, and now." Pete runs a hand down his body slowly, stopping at his package; he rubs the heel of his hand over it, letting out a soft moan. "C'mere,"   
  
  
"Pete what the hell is going on?" Patrick questions, getting increasingly stressed over this. He thought they planned to make it a little more special than this, having this be the first time Patrick's had sex.  **Maybe this is what it's supposed to be like...?** Patrick can't even convince the thing he  **should**   be thinking with that this is completely right.  
  
  
"What do  **you**  think is going on? I'm horny, you're my boyfriend--and not to mention--fucking hot. Been thinking about you--this for weeks." Pete unzips and unbuttons his jeans, revealing himself fully from the lack of underwear.  
  
  
"Jesus Christ, what the fuck, Pete?" Patrick averts his eyes, unable to settle them anywhere on the wall, no matter how hard he tries not to look. Pete sits up on his knees, almost crawling to the end of the bed where Patrick stands.  
  
  
"I'm sure you've seen it on the internet before. You've touched it, it shouldn't surprise you like this."  
  
  
"Yeah, but you're just whipping it out, so this  **is**  different." Patrick's palms are so sweaty, he doesn't think he could even open a door on the first hundred tries.  Pete eyes Patrick with something darker than just playful gleaming in his eyes. He makes a quick movement and pulls Patrick over him onto the bed. "Pete! Stop, talk to me. What is going on?"   
  
  
"I told you already." He tops Patrick in a swift position switch, heading straight to the paler man's zipper. Pete is disappointed when he sees Patrick isn't even half-hard. "Why aren't you up?" Pete starts stroking him. Patrick tries to pull that hand away, but that is persistence he hasn't seen in a while.  
  
  
"Pete, get off of me, you're starting to really scare me." Patrick wiggles, trying to get free, but to no avail.  
  
  
"Lemme suck you off, maybe that'll get things started," Pete is hasty like his other movements, not wasting time getting his mouth on Patrick.  
  
  
"No, Pete, I don't fucking want you to do this,"  
  
  
"Why not?" Pete looks up barely an inch away from contact again.  
  
  
"Please, get off of me, I'm not going to get turned on."  
  
  
"One try: that's all I need." Pete begs.  
  
  
"I said no. Put yourself away, and talk to me. This isn't normal you, what's going on?" Patrick says in a soothing tone, showing more patience than even he thought he had.   
  
  
"Patrick, please, I want this right now, I can't fucking hold out,  **please**." Patrick nods his head in disappointment at Pete before withdrawing himself from under him.  
  
  
"Well if you can't 'hold out' than you can go find somebody else to fuck." Patrick gets off the bed, Pete's mouth still partially agape as he watches Patrick storm off. "Besides," he shouts through the room as his hand is on the knob to the door out, "I didn't want to be the boyfriend of a touchy-freak-pill-popping, fucking  **cutter**."   
  
  
That last word hurt Pete more than anything he's ever felt before. He gets out of his bed, zipping back up, getting that feeling of pig once again. He goes into the bathroom, looking at that mess in the mirror, except when he tries, there isn't a mirror in his bathroom, just the adhesive and wall where one should be._  
  
  
 _Pete decides he's no good, having now probably royally fucked up the band, and most certainly fucked up his only relationship he really cared about. Pete grabs a handful of blues that were just mysteriously laying in his sink, and prepared to swallow--_  
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
Pete wakes up, no air in his lungs at this moment, jumping out of bed before he even knows what hit him.  _Oh no! I thought Patrick was little Petey's best friend! How could he say something cruel, yet so true?_  He's stood up now with the lights on, pacing the room. Pete's stomach is knotted, and nausea is the only thing he is physically feeling; emotion wise, it's more like, rejection, dejection, and the ultimate, disgusted with himself,  _ **Great, I can't even do it right in my dreams.**_  
  
  
He goes for a glass of water still trying to shake that dream. The line between reality and fiction are more blurred than ever; he starts piecing together that he _knows_  Patrick isn't really like that, more importantly,  _he_  isn't really like that. His brain is kind to him for once, and gives him scraps of last night. The couch, Patrick just melting underneath his touch, Patrick wanting him,  _ **right?**_  Pete chuckles to himself when he gets to the part where Joe had walked in. The more he mulls over the memory, the fuzzier it gets, leaving the nightmare feeling like more reality than any of this.   
  
  
He sighs, finishing his glass of water before he reads the clock: 6:35 a.m., relived that it's the morning this time, knowing he isn't going to bed after that. Within minutes all his senses clear and the only distinctive feelings are the pounding in his head, and the sting of last night in his arm.  __ **It's not enough.**  After that unfamiliar nightmare, he needs something familiar. He goes back to the blade as a alternative to the migraine pills. He's well aware that this is an addiction, that's he's getting worse and more reliant on it each day.  
  
  
His eyes just watch as he notices just how far the blade sinks in. Too many fresh wounds on his left arm, he doesn't even think for a second and goes after the right, break yet another vow he had to himself.   
  
  
After the mess-making and then the clean-up, he slips on jeans and a hoodie, going out the door early to get to the studio. Walking slower or getting something to eat could help pass the time before he actually has to be there.


	4. You're Just like Mars, You Shine in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know that your mind doesn't take a minute off, and the only chance of it is with that one person.

**First Person Pete**  
  
  
I arrive outside the studio just under an hour before everyone else shows up. I regret not bringing a pen. I feel like words are bouncing inside my head, like they're playing pinball and they can't find that one little slot out. I need to write; strum; anything.  
  
  
I pace up and down the sidewalk, humming a song that I can't even remember the title of, occasionally kicking a leaf left astray. I can't even bring myself to think about anything: the noisy quiet that tells me I'll probably forget all the good words that I could've at least given to the band, but that I won't get a chance to write them down in time.  
  
  
I get sick of walking after what I hope is awhile. Twenty minutes left of waiting. I sit down at the door, instantly slipping up a sleeve to see the dried blood from the wounds I didn't cover up. At least I had enough sense to wear a dark hoodie today.  
  
  
I hear footsteps coming my way, I pull my sleeves down quickly as if I were just adjusting myself. I'm lucky, it's Patrick, smiling brighter than the morning sun. I don't deserve someone as amazing as him. I should have a heart for once, and cut this off before I do sometime too drastic and break his heart.  
  
  
"Hey, can I sit with you?" He asks, always so polite, even to close friends (and apparently boyfriends).  
  
  
"You've infinite passes to sit next to me." Patrick giggles and some part of me has the light switch flip back on. He sits down--almost hip-to-hip--putting his heavy bag partially on my lap, the rest on his. He leans his head back a bit to look out into the morning.  
  
  
"I dreamt about you last night." Patrick says, a smile playing on his mouth as if it were an inside joke. I'm hoping it wasn't his point of view from the nightmare I had last night. I'm sure he wouldn't be smiling if it were.  
  
  
"Oh yeah? Anything good?" I turn my head to him, sending a grin that turns from cheap muscle reaction out of years of practice, to an actual legitimate smile that I'm never able to fake or fight when I see him.  
  
  
"It was nice. You were really cuddly and protective of me when someone said some bad shit about my music, like a dream when you forget that love might actually be real, and it makes you believe again. It also got,  _nicer_  after that." Patrick doesn't let that smile from a minute ago fade at all, if anything it's gotten wider. Must've been really good.  
  
  
"One touch and you're already having wet dreams about me? Should I feel violated?" I raised a suspicious but playful eyebrow at him, he tries to stare me dead-on until he cracks up.  
  
  
"Shut up! I was  _not_  having a wet dream about you." Patrick crosses his arms and looks the other way as if he were offended by my suggestion.  
  
  
"You've always tell me about your wet dreams, come on-- _oh_ , wait, you already did, didn't you?" I tease.  
  
  
"Fine, fine, I didn't have a wet dream about you--"  
  
  
"You little liar--"  
  
  
"No, I'm not lying, it was just more of a, uh, more like  _soaked_  dream, like I had to change just about all of my clothes when I woke up." Patrick blushes.  
  
  
"Awh, did I make you wet the bed?"  
  
  
"It wasn't pee, you dick." He punches my arm for good measure.  
  
  
"I make you all hot and bothered--" His blush gets even brighter and starts to travel down his neck (that I just now noticed I really want to put my mouth on).  
  
  
"Stop it, Pete, you know what you do to me." I keep myself quiet for a bit--seeing that we still have a little time to burn, and that's if everyone's on time--but can't help myself from talking,   
  
  
"Got any details you'd like to share?"  
  
  
"I'm not telling."  
  
  
"It's not like I'm asking for the nuclear launch codes-- _well_. Was it kinky? Did I bite? Did  _you_  bite? Who topped?" Patrick grunts at me--which is really adorable, and kinda turning me on.  
  
  
"No, it wasn't kinky. We were on an airplane when the guy was being a dick, so after you stood up for me I was, well, getting really into you," I bet. "And then we went into the little bathroom cubby, and yeah...." It's so cute how flustered he's getting saying this to me.  
  
  
"Joining the Mile High Club, huh? Kinda kinky to me. But still, who topped? I'm really interested in that question, so spill it." I pry.  
  
  
"It was a dream, it doesn't matter."  
  
  
"Alright, keep secrets from me. I'm not even sure how you lost your dream virginity, whatever, guess I'm not your best friend after all." I mumble out glumly, trying to pull his strings.  
  
  
Andy very conveniently approaching right on time. Why didn't any of us bring keys this morning?  
  
  
"Yes, Andy, save me!" Patrick gets up to avoid conversation with me, (so he thinks). Andy seems to know exactly what Patrick's talking about. I'll make sure.  
  
  
"Patrick was just about to tell me who topped in a wet dream he had about me last night." Andy glances at both of us before walking away from us to sit away from our conversation. Just before he sits down, he shouts to us,  
  
  
"Joe told me about you two last night. I hope you cleaned the couch." We both chuckle at that. Well at least that's out of the way, glad to hear he doesn't have any _don't fuck this all_  up speeches, I'll still be waiting.  
  
  
"Back to you, 'Tricky." I bring him close by grabbing the belt loops near his hips. I crane my head down and breath intentionally heavy on his neck; I lightly brush my lips against him in an attempt to tease it out of him.  
  
  
"Get a room!" Andy yells, looking up from his iPod, I feel Patrick look over at him, but I don't bother.  
  
  
" _So_ ," I breathe out.  
  
  
"Alright! I'll tell you, just please, stop teasing, we've got a lot of work to do today, not now." Patrick pulls me off of him, I can tell he's getting turned on, mission accomplished.  
  
  
"I can wait."  
  
  
"I would've never guessed, Pete Wentz, the waiting type." I squint at him, and he smiles at me again. I'm never going to earn that smile wholeheartedly.  
  
  
"Hey! Sorry I'm late," Joe comes over to the door to unlock it, along with the other techies or something. I can always remember a face, but never a name. "How long you guys been here?" Patrick looks at his watch, calculating.  
  
  
"Pete was already here when I got here, but I've been here half hour now; Andy a few minutes."  
  
  
"And no one thought to, like, bring their keys?" We all go in, everyone getting to their instruments and setting up anything they brought in their backpacks. I just watch, all I usually bring with me is a notepad full of the latest lyrics that people actually think are half-decent. I'm not a Morrissey; Robert Smith; nor an Ian Curtis, but people buy our records. I never thought that anyone would ever buy it for the words of a "Tortured 'Young' Artist/Try-Hard/Cliché/Full-Time Fuck Up" (their wasting a lot of money if that's the reason). Patrick says these are my best ones yet, though. I don't know what anyone really sees in me.  
  
  
Patrick's first up to record a few tracks. He warms his voice up before going into the recording area. His voice is amazing--I've always gone hard for it, even when he wasn't quite of age. I'm a creep, I won't ever say I'm not. Sometimes he says he screwed up a part in the song, and to do it again, but I can't tell.  
  
  
I wish he heard what I hear from him. I want him to love himself like I do. Only question if it were that way, would that be when he realized he really didn't need someone like me? In the meantime I'll just be the black cloud in denial for today; it's still got potential to be an up day, so I better stop before I dig the daily grave. My moods are just a pendulum: going between ecstasy and self-hate, no in between, yet I'm still surprised with every swing.  
  
  
After Patrick and Joe finish theirs, it's just me and Andy to go for today. It's sometime in the afternoon--past lunchtime--where Joe goes home. Patrick always stays back to watch and make sure everything goes good. He's the only one in this band that we'll all let have control and not think he's being a dick for it.  
  
  
I sit on the stool with my signature bass guitar that they let me use on this album. I go at it for a warm up: my fingers tripping on themselves it seems like. I get more nimble as the blood starts to flow, and then we're actually recording it. It goes well, aside from my complaining about the pick 'bending' or being too slippery, (I can sometimes be a control freak).  
  
  
It only goes bad when I feel the scratch of fabric on my arm. I grind my teeth and try not to falter the beat. Every single strum is mocking me, rubbing the fact of my other failure in my face. I shouldn't let this effect me, I don't want to drag everyone down for the day if this gets found out again.  
  
  
I sit up a little straight and purse my lips as I focus on playing, and nothing else. Yeah,  _nothing_  else. I'm almost down with the last song, as I let out a loud hiss from the body of the guitar pressing just a little too hard. I could've brushed it off, but I have the muscle reaction to stop playing. The speakers from the room to out gets turned on.  
  
  
"What was that over?" The... producer(?) asks, it's clear I just burst his bubble with the smooth day fuck up.  
  
  
"Sorry, about that. Slept real weird last night: just sore, and it cramped up on me, won't happen again." I assure him.  
  
  
"Alright. Let's keep this flow going." I start again.  
  
  
Andy's in the room now, he always gets everything in one shot, so he doesn't need assistance of any kind. Which is good as my belated panic attack kicks in from my moment before. I feel my chest tighten, my breath cutting short. Next off is my palms almost literally turning to liquid.  
  
  
"I'm going for a bathroom break." I say with the little sanity I have left at this moment. I don't think anyone heard, but I don't care as I nearly jog to the safe haven that a bathroom is right now. I've always felt safest in a bathroom--even though that's usually when the most danger goes on--but it's like a sanctuary from everyone else. Lock the door and no one will wonder or question, long as you're quiet. I splash water on my face and dry off with whatever piece of fabric I can pull up enough to my face. A few deep breaths, the quiet, and the strong will to not make a scene today calms me down quicker than I thought I would.  
  
  
Patrick knocks on the door:  
  
  
"Hey, Pete, can I come in?" Shit, I hope he didn't see me out there, I don't want to do the whole explaining thing right now, I just got stable, the cat doesn't need to be ripped from the bag now. I unlock the door and let him in. His face isn't solemn, but he stills looks like he's got something to inquire about.  
  
  
"Hey, whatcha doing in here?" I question, saying it as if he just walked into my home.  _Ha_.  
  
  
"I, uh, I wanted to, uh," Patrick takes in a deep breath and lets it out, "I wanted to make it up to you, for last night. And, uh, tell you about my dream."  
  
  
"Patrick, you don't have to, I'm not expecting--"  
  
  
"I really want to." Patrick steps closer to me, softly putting his lips on mine; he tastes like licorice. He pushes my hood down, and goes to kiss my neck. This is probably the most unexpected thing, I don't care if that's makes me  _Captain-Fucking-Obvious_  for saying that. This kid (I know he's 25, not a kid, blah, blah,) is full of twists and turns. We both have something up our sleeves. Patrick's hand roams it's way around to my jacket zipper, he glides it down slow, he goes down with it.  
  
  
"Don't take it off," I say as if it's a fantasy instead of the way I meant it. He doesn't move it further. Patrick pushes my undershirt up past my belly button, licking at and kissing my tattoo, a lot. I  _swear_  he was a porn star in his past life. I'm just about hard to the point of pain when he graciously unzips my jeans, and looks up at me after. He looks so sweet and pure, even down on his knees in the bathroom of a studio in the shitty part of town.  
  
  
"I've never done this before, so I've got no clue, but I'll do my best." So modest, I love that about him.  
  
  
"You've been a porn star this far," Patrick giggles, and yeah, now it's painful. He licks the head teasingly, it causes me to twitch. Patrick's hand grazes me down the shaft, and now his mouth is on me. His hand and mouth are working in a bit of a rhythm, as if he was just  _made_  for this. I feel myself hit his throat at some point, and I shudder at the breathtaking (literally) texture and warmth; Patrick stops to look up at me, like he's wondering if he did something wrong. "Keep going, doing good." I almost moan out.  
  
  
I don't think this is going to last long.  
  
  
"I can't believe this is happening." I'm not even sure how I strung that sentence together with the lack of oxygen that must be cutting off all my brain-cells by now. Patrick hums in smug delight. I watch his head bob, and I run my fingers through his hair, knocking off his hat all the way. "Patrick, I'm close--" Barely a warning, as I spill, biting back a moan, I'm not sure how soundproof these walls would be.  
  
  
A shock-wave going through my whole body, I'm worried that I might actually fall to the ground. I hold back the urge to buck into him, or pull his hair, I don't want to scare him first time around, or ever for that matter (I do enough of that in my dreams). Patrick's face turns nauseated, he withdraws from me quick, spitting into the sink.  
  
  
"Okay, that's something I'll have to get used to."  _Get used to._  I love the sound of that. Patrick has now completed the task of leaving me brainless and taken care of. I can't even get my hands to zip myself back up, I'm guessing this bathroom wall is my new home. Patrick turns around, after rinsing the sink, smirking at me with those swollen lips, with that I shake myself out of that shock and euphoria to cover back up. "Did I do good?"  
  
  
"Yeah--fuck yeah, you did. And that was your first time for sure? I mean that was, _shit_ , that was just really fucking good and really hot." Patrick blushes as pink as his lips.  
  
  
"You can thank that dream, I pretty much just redid what I did in that."  
  
  
" _Ohhhh_ , I get it now. Well, your dream self is very skilled, and if you dream up anything else, I think I'm in." We both share a minute of the most comfortable silences I've been in this week, but I can tell it's a little awkward for him. "So what did you think?"  
  
  
"I actually liked that more than I thought I would. Wasn't too keen on the last part, but no one said it tasted good." Patrick tells me, voice unsteady.  
  
  
"I can see." I scan the shy, stuttering, Patrick that I remember when we first met. "You want some help?" I offer.  
  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah, that," Patrick laughs nervously, like a teenager getting caught with a first time boner. "Let's call it even now. We should get out there."  
  
  
"You sure?"  
  
  
"Yeah, I'm good. They'll be a next time anyway." Patrick beams at me, I do the same back.  
  
  
We go back out there, Patrick tells me to go first, in an attempt to make it not so obvious. Doesn't bother me, I mean come on, yesterday we were caught in the act. I realize that I left my hoodie unzipped; I'm fixing that as I walk into the main-room. Everyone is talking and looks like their waiting, Andy's not sitting on the couch, but standing next to the arm cushion, his eyes go right to me as I enter.  
  
  
"What took you so long?" I look at my clock and see we were in there for over twenty-minutes. Patrick comes into the room, and I grin real wide to Andy. Patrick's fumbling with his hands, seemingly in embarrassment. Andy glances at both of us and puts it together. "That's more than I wanted to know." Now Patrick's face is bright red, I wonder if he feels it hot as the way it looks.  
  
  
I kiss Patrick goodnight, and we leave, all headed home for the night.  
  
  
When I get home, the apartment isn't narcoleptic and depressing like I remember this morning. I feel like my breath truly makes it into my lungs for the first time in weeks. I smile at nothing in particular, shower--didn't even notice the new scars--and I get right to sleep and sleep well since a too long time. Early night for me, I'm not afraid of the nightmares tonight. I'm taking the night off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weirdest thing I've ever done for Peterick: Written smut first person. I went between, "Pete, you are such a perv," to "This is so fucking awkward, what am I doing." *Cue the nightmares about that other first person story of mine* Didn't stop it all from being really fun lol


	5. Doing Lines of Dust and Sweat off Last Night's Stage, Just to Feel Like You

"Pete, why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Patrick questions gently, having found out that Pete hasn't quit. "You're just telling me, I won't tell anybody else if that's what you're worried about, I swear." Pete scowls down at his feet while leaning against the wall of a diner bathroom (one week after last in the studio), the other two awaiting their return, but thinking more that "boyfriend" things are going from the way Patrick said "Pete, come into the bathroom with me right now." Innuendo or something, right?  
  
  
"Pete, you're going to have to talk to me eventually." Pete starts to think of spinning a story that is pure showmanship and no emotion to get through this again. "Joe and Andy won't interrupt so don't think you'll be saved." Pete crosses his arm, and glances around the room for a quick way out. Patrick stands in front of him, the only exit door on the other side of him.  
  
  
Patrick extends his arm, rubbing the fabric over Pete's bicep in a attempt to set the tone of this inquiry different. Pete lightly shrugs his whole body away, causing Patrick to sigh. Patrick retreats his hands to his pockets to cause no further "threat".  
  
  
"If you don't want to talk about, at least tell me if there's something I could do?" Patrick offers in whichever way that should be taken from the never-faltering-glaring-a-the-floor-Pete. Patrick's patience is running out, no matter how much he tells himself that he should just wait it out.  
  
  
"Patrick, I just need to figure this out myself. I know I shouldn't be doing this bullshit, but I do anyway, so we can see that the problem in this situation is standing right in front of you." Pete said, flatly and quiet.  
  
  
"I want to help you though, we've already been through so much, and it kills me that I can't be here for you when you seem to need it the most." Patrick voice gets choked up near the end of that. Pete looks up at the younger man's glassy eyes, suddenly feeling like an anvil of guilt was just dropped on him. "You just get so sad, and I don't know what I should do, and I've always been the 'comfort and help out' kind of guy with you," Patrick sniffles and Pete's heart drops. "and then this. I'm not only your best friend, but your boyfriend now, and it just adds to the helpless feeling around you, like I  _should_  be the one helping you, and I fall short every time lately."  
  
  
Patrick wipes away a few tears, Pete at a loss for words seeing the love of his life in this state. "Patrick...." Pete untangles his body from the defensive stance to reach to Patrick for a hug. Not the time to think of personal gain, but Pete really feels like he prefers being the hug-giver than taker for these kind of days. "I'm so sorry." Patrick resists the embrace until Pete shows no intent of relenting.  
  
  
Pete feels a tear drop or two seep into the shoulder of his clothing, he rubs Patrick's back firmly, pulling out all the stops for a good hug.  
  
  
"How 'bout me and you make like a word for when I feel like hurting myself? You can come over or keep an eye on me. I'll even strip so you can see I didn't do anything." Pete suggests. He knows he'd need more than a friend every couple of hours, but the company might make him see the love in his life and rethink his motives.   
  
  
Patrick giggles a bit. "I think that would be a good idea." They break the hug, Patrick giving a lopsided smile; his currently red eyes and nose such a contrast to his pale skin. "Please don't think there is ever a wrong time to text or call me."   
  
  
"I know. I'm realizing now what an insensitive jerk I've been these past few months. I can't say that it's crossed my mind more than once or twice what this might actually be doing to you guys. You especially," Patrick's brows furrow in confusion. "You know, being my boyfriend too. You're amazing at everything, and I get to enjoy the... extra talents you've been hiding from me for years," Pete grins through that part of his speech, Patrick chuckles, but still hasn't seen the point in the story. "And I still do the bullshit I do. I'm happy with my life right now, and maybe that's why I can't deal with the sad as easily as I used to. I just don't want you ever thinking that you did something wrong, is what I'm trying to say." Patrick pulls Pete in for a kiss, throwing his arms over his shoulders, as Pete's find their place on the slightly shorter man's hips.   
  
  
Patrick pants, and pulls the other in closer by readjusting his hands to settle on Pete's neck. Pete smiles at the gesture and moans out a pleased response. Their hips press together, seeking friction for the growing distraction in each one's jeans. Pete takes a chance and unzips Patrick's jeans, knowing that if he went first, it wouldn't last long. His hands are warm when he gets it on Patrick's cock, the younger man pulling his mouth away for a chance at air.   
  
  
"Holy  _shit_." Pete takes that as a sign to up his game, looking for an even better reaction by the end of this moment. Pete licks at Patrick's neck; teasing his hand over the head.  
  
  
"Hey, it's been like a half hour, me and Andy wanna leave, and the manager says you two need to get out of there, so hurry up." Joe says through the door.  
  
  
"In a minute." Pete replies through his teeth, hand slowly withdrawing from its position.   
  
  
"So I guess we gotta get out there again?" Patrick zips himself up once he's softened a bit.  
  
  
"Yeah. Maybe me and you could try this again at my place sometime, you know, where we could actually finish."  
  
  
"Sure. I think I have more sexual frustration than I did when I was a teenager, so soon would be pretty good."   
  
  
The two leave the bathroom with slight embarrassment. "Trohman the Boner Killer." Pete declares as they sit down again, hips closer than last time.  
  
  
"Go say that to the manager." Joe laughs.


	6. If Home Is Where the Heart Is, than We're All Just Fucked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you need that extra love, maybe let your guard down for a moment.

*****First Person Pete*****  
  
  
Three days after Patrick and I had that talk in the bathroom, I'm back at my apartment, feeling the chest tightening panic set in again. This is the first time I haven't harmed myself for three days straight since I've started. I can't figure it out, but I haven't lost all faith in myself (yet) so I might as well see how far into quitting I get before I turn back. Not exactly the number one way to go at it, and I'm aware that I'm not fully committed to this. Every single day off is better though, one less day of getting deeper; one less day of being wrong and knowing it without doing something about it.  
  
  
I'm so tired of these moral battles. I have this one side that says Do it! It doesn't matter, it makes you feel good, what's wrong with it? I'm waiting. The other is talking me away from it all the time, mostly telling me to imagine if Patrick was literally standing right in front of me, watching the blade go through a part of me for a high that will just leave (now press repeat).  
  
  
I've always wanted to protect him from everything--especially myself--so that usually gets the other side going and I just forget, but remember (sooner or later), he isn't there, so it's not that shameful. Right? Beside, quitting was about due, you know, having been found out more times than I can honestly count right now. It was starting to feel like it was right in front of all my friends face, you know?  
  
  
I have what Patrick said: "Please don't think there is ever a wrong time to text or call me."  running through my head, but it takes me way too long to actually give in and text him. This is the right thing to do.  
  
  
\- what r u up to? - Pete  
  
  
Not more then five minutes later, he texts back (like he was just waiting. It's Patrick, I mean he probably was.):  
  
  
\- Just refining a few things for the music on one of the verses. Nothing super important. - Patrick  
  
  
\- when ur done could u come over tonite? - Pete  
  
  
\- Sure! I'll be over in a few with some movies. - Patrick  
  
  
\- i love u soooo much xoxo - Pete  
  
  
\- Love you too :) - Patrick  
  
  
I unlock my door and go off to my bedroom to sit down. I just need the dark for a little while. It feels like a ball of anxiety is just inside of me, and I'm feeling like I'm just in too much. I strip off my t-shirt and jeans, and sit at the side of my bed, taking deep breaths. I get a lot of anxiety at night, I have theories as to why, but nothing pin-pointed. Let's just say the night holds more of my mistakes than any other time during the day. Every nightfall is a trigger and you can't stop that.  
  
  
***Third Person***  
  
  
"Patrick Stump, reporting for emergency sleep over!" Patrick announces with the click of the door closing adding the punctuation to his words. "I brought John Cusack movies galore, because I know you've always had a man-crush on him, figured you could use it." Patrick drops his plastic bag filled with the couple of things he might need. His pajamas are already being worn, shamelessly, so it's more just to carry the movies, plus a pillow if Pete didn't want to share the bed with him.  
  
  
"Come here, please." Pete mumbles, just barely audible from his room. Patrick goes in, seeing the shadowy figure hunched over with his elbows on his knees, hands on either side of his face. It reminds Patrick of one of those many stressful nights in the dressing rooms.  
  
  
"Hey, Pete," Patrick steps over to Pete, "mind if I turn the nightstand lamp on?" Pete nods his head. Patrick gives Pete the once over, when he sees that the older man is sitting in just his boxer shorts, he knows better than to question it right now, or to mention that this is the first time he's seen the infamous white-shining-lines (some still scabbing over) peppering Pete's thighs. It upsets Patrick, but doesn't offend him in the slightest like he might've worried.  
  
  
Patrick sits down next to the dead-silent Pete, leaning his head on his bronze shoulder. Years of a friendship from him, he's figured that contact is one of the quickest ways to console Pete.  
  
  
"Anything you want to talk about?" Patrick asks, almost as if it's a side note. Pete has always appreciated when it feels like someone's listening, but not scrutinizing everything he does, searching their minds for a reply to every word, as if the more they talk it just finds a word to help more, albeit it just makes it more stressful for Pete to talk. It's complicated but he knows exactly what he wants.  
  
  
"Just the usual, you know? I want to tell you, I just don't want to talk about it right now. Nothing huge." Pete's body rises and falls heavy for a few minutes before his heart seems to slow back to normal. "I really want to try and quit. Not just for me, but for you, for the band, for everything." He says finally.  
  
  
"I'm going to help you every step of the way, don't forget that."  
  
  
"I won't, long as you swear not to get tired of my resistance I might get over all this, sometimes." Pete requests.  
  
  
"I swear I won't." Patrick means it, but Pete still has his fickleness to fight with. His personal rules: whatever every else's warning means, Pete's will need at least three times worse warning.  
  
  
"We'll cut a deal, I swear to give some form of pleasure to you each time I call in my comfort blanket." Pete pledges to Patrick.  
  
  
"Long as you're up to it, I won't complain." Patrick agrees. "And for the record, you don't have to whore yourself out to me for affection, it's free forever from me."  
  
  
"I know, it would just make me feel better to know I was giving and not just taking, if that's all right." Patrick chuckles. "I'll make a list of demands each time, make you earn points." Pete jokes.  
  
  
"Looking forward to them, long as you don't mind me making my own list. Like the first for you to stand up, since you told me to do a body inspection on you." Patrick stands up to motivate Pete for it.  
  
  
"I didn't tell you to, I suggested it, though."  
  
  
"Tell, suggest, whatever, doesn't matter. Stand up." Patrick gestures his hand as well. Pete stretches his back, and stands up, the bronze light of his nightstand illuminating his body. Pete flips his wrists over to make the inspection easier. "Boxers off too," Pete raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
  
"Excuse me?" Pete says in mock-offence.  
  
  
"I'm not being a pervert, just last time it was your hips too, so all of it and no complaints." Patrick smiles at Pete.  
  
  
"Yeah, that's not the grin of a pervert at all. Just tell me you're not going to get all freaked out from older scarring, right?" Pete questions, incredulously, forcing his mind away from all the severe ways Patrick could react.  
  
  
"Won't bother me."  
  
  
"Alright," with that, Pete strips off his underwear, and gets into the position he was previously. Pete watches as Patrick's eyes--trying to mean business--betray him and keep travelling to the almost always obvious place to stare when a naked man is in front of you. Patrick sighs loudly, surely trying (and failing) at not having arousing feelings over this.  
  
  
Patrick goes around to behind Pete, where his skin is almost completely clear from any scars. Once he finishes the actual search, he let's himself look at the dark curve of Pete's ass. Patrick knows he's seen him stripped more times than he could count, but it really is something different when you're openly allowed, when it wouldn't be the strangest thing in the world if you even touched.  
  
  
Pete just smirks through the rest of this, eyes focused on the ceiling, feeling the gaze on him. "Okay, all clean." Patrick reports.  
  
  
"See, I've been good. Now I want cuddles." Pete pulls his boxers up again, setting his eyes at flushed-cheek-Patrick. "You dirty little man, you got a boner from this." Pete laughs. Patrick's face turns redder, not realizing that despite his loose fitting pajama pants, you can still see his outline.  
  
  
"W-what? No, I didn't, that would be weird--"  
  
  
"Sure, it's not you, it's totally normal that a couple of people just pitched a tent inside your pants, and are planning on camping. Little underpants gnomes or something, definitely not you." Pete drawls.  
  
  
"Fuck you--" Patrick starts, but is cut off once more.  
  
  
"I'll stop you right there, and say how normal it is. I'm supposed to have a totally hot body that you want to lick, and kiss, and touch, and have all sweaty, pressed against your--"  
  
  
"Oh my god, Pete, stop it,"  
  
  
"It's just nature. So did I pass?"  
  
  
"With flying colors. Movies?"  
  
  
"If I'm allowed to get some clothes on."  
  
  
Patrick and Pete settle on the couch in pajamas watching  The Raven for the first time before moving onto older flicks, with jokes they've laughed at innumerable times without it losing the punch line. Come the third movie, the two are still wide awake, Pete's head on Patrick's lap as if he's cuddling with a pillow.  
  
  
"Pete," Patrick says offhandedly, eyes drifting to the older man. Pete rolls his way onto his back to meet the gaze.  
  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
  
"Can I kiss you?"  
  
  
"You don't have to ask, you know." Pete smiles dreamily at his intimately shy boyfriend.  
  
  
"I know, but I don't know, I mean it's been so stressful lately, and I just don't want to take a wrong step, even in the smallest way."  
  
  
"I know, believe me." Pete sits up and leans into Patrick's lips. "You never have to ask to kiss me, though." Patrick cups his hand on Pete's cheek as they go in for another. Patrick looks up at Pete with bedroom eyes, as the older man mounts Patrick's lap, he begins rutting his hips against him. Pete pulls the shirt off his own back with one swift movement, tossing it over the back of the couch.  
  
  
Pete feels Patrick hardening against his thigh, it's apparent in both of their loose fitting pajamas. Pete presses himself down for a little more friction, Patrick emits a small moan, placing his hands on Pete hips adding to the pressure.  
  
  
"Mind if I finish what I started the other day?" Pete offers. Patrick looks at him for a moment until it dawns on him what Joe had caused Pete to leave unfinished.  
  
  
"Yeah, sure, go ahead." Pete places one more kiss on Patrick's lips before backing off his lap till his knees are on the floor in front of the couch. Patrick watches intently as he pajama pants get pulls down past his knees, then to the floor. "Sure you're fine with me naked on your couch?"  
  
  
Pete can't help but laugh a bit at that. "Yeah, more reason to sit on it, if you ask me."  
  
  
"Okay, I was hoping for a creepy answer any--oh fuck," Pete licks Patrick's length to cut his talking off. He rubs his hand up the paler man's thigh, teasing around the area that's throbbing for contact. "Please," Patrick begs.  
  
  
Pete smirks, licking another length up the vulnerable one, before taking in just the head, letting his tongue roam, shamelessly.  
  
  
"Wow, you look so hot like this," Patrick breathes out as Pete takes him in halfway, with a sinful smile. Pete has his hand take care of the part that his mouth can't reach. Patrick's eyes don't shut for even a moment, but stay fixed on the dark haired one's head bobbing between his legs, fighting back the temptation to pull on that hair.  
  
  
Patrick begins to lightly buck his hips towards Pete. "I think I'm close," Patrick throws his head back, shutting his eyes with only the flickering of the screen trying to push light through them, and Pete deep-throats him until the younger man spills down his throat with a choked out noise as he bites his lip. Pete swallows around Patrick's cock, keeping his mind on anything but the taste of that. He draws his head back, now painfully hard.  
  
  
Patrick tugs on the sleeve of Pete's shirt until he gets up to sit next to him. Patrick pulls his night pants back up before laying Pete down on the couch and kissing on his neck. Pete hands grabs onto Patrick's ass, pushing Patrick into him for friction.  
  
  
Patrick goes over the same spot on his neck, Pete breath hitching just a small note higher each time, breathing the former's name quietly into his ear. Patrick slips two fingers into Pete's waistband, just brushing over his dick, Pete pulls into his touch. He slips the rest of his hand into the waist band, the two locking it between them. Pete comes with a few strokes, releasing onto Patrick's hand as it seeps through the thick flannel bottoms, Pete resisting the urge to bite down on Patrick's shoulder while the orgasm sends an indescribable wave through his body.  
  
  
Patrick retreats back to his spot on the couch, Pete smiles at the ceiling, hands behind his head, and wet spot on the front of his pants. Patrick wipes his hand off on the bottom of Pete's pajamas,  
  
  
"Dude, what the fuck?" Pete says, albeit not really caring if Patrick even wiped his hand off on the couch right now.  
  
  
"You've gotta change them anyway."  
  
  
"Take 'em off for me." Pete requests, wiggling his legs like a child at Patrick.  
  
  
"Take them off yourself."  
  
  
"It wasn't a question, you throw out your own napkins, you know. Now do it, please." he drawls.  
  
  
"Fine," Patrick does as requested (more like demanded), Pete lifts his hips for easier access. Patrick grips away from the used areas, then gets his payback by throwing the dirty pajama pants at Pete, only to have them throw back at him but dodged with more coordination than he remembers having.  
  
  
They turn off the movie after about ten more minutes, Patrick heading into the bathroom before getting his pillow ready.  
  
  
"Dude, sleep with me, not on the couch." Pete says only that, stealing the fluffy but worn pillow into his room. Patrick turns out the lamp light and follows suit. Pete prepares his bed, laying down on it back partially pressed to the wall to give room on the twin sized mattress. Patrick drops his pants to put them on the night stand, getting into bed.  
  
  
Not a moment after he stops getting adjusted, Pete is readjusting himself to be nearly joined at the hip to Patrick, leg tossed carelessly over Patrick, arm wrapping around with hand resting on the pale stomach, with a sly movement having it under Patrick's shirt and on the bare skin.  
  
  
"Love you," Pete murmurs into the neck of his best friend. It isn't like they've never said I love you before, nothing abnormal from the word directed to the other. But something feels different about this one. Said a hundred times by now, this though, this is more special. It's sleep-laden and vulnerable; a raw shared moments, half-stripped, snuggled close in Pete's too small bed, and barely separate pillows. Lean in and embrace, or flee. This is like preparing for possibly the rest of your life. The first big sign.  
  
  
"Love you too." Patrick replies without hesitation, drifting to sleep before the thought even runs through his head twice.  
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
*****First Person Pete*****  
  
  
_I'm on the couch with Patrick again, this time he's leaning on my lap. His hand freely runs over my thigh, tracing arbitrary lines, inching higher and higher each round. I know where this is going. I thought he was passing to sleep by now, on our fourth movie, still wide-eyed, as if we weren't going to be done with tonight until there was some explicit touching.  
  
  
Before I even lean down to kiss him, I'm lying on my back, I think on my bed, with a weight on my hips. No mistaking it's Patrick, at least I hope it's him. My mind strays in and out of all the other gloomy possibilities that I am far from being willing to. What the fuck is wrong with my mind.  
  
  
Patrick is nearly naked on my lap, grinding his hips into mine as I feel his erection on me, and the other way around. He leans down and meets my mouth, biting and pulling back at my bottom lip. Patrick takes off my pants with a quick movement that left me dumbfounded. Now he's biting at my neck and groping at my cock through my boxers; I attempt to get with the program by shyly touching his back.  
  
  
Patrick throws his boxers to the side, revealing his blood-darkened dick, climbing a bit over me for the nightstand, taking out a condom and lube. Okay, this is actually going to happen. Patrick rolls on the condom first, I look in his eyes a little startled, he smiles at me, coating three fingers with lube.  
  
  
Okay, yeah, this is **actually** fucking happening. Patrick grabs one of my hands and sets it on his ass, lower than I decided with my failed attempts at being in the moment. I don't have a problem with this, but I'm really shocked our first time would be so...  **feral**. This is one night stand, or few months in quality, I never thought he'd be like this. The shock of your expectations being--put down or met (I can't decide), really sends you for a round: this isn't the time to be thinking everything through, so I'm going to just stop with the brain part of this. They say most men think with their penises, now would be a good time to be like "most men".  
  
  
I wrap my legs around his waist for his hand to have more leverage as he stretches me out, rocking down onto him. Patrick's free hand glides up my thigh, stopping around the middle of it, I can feel his fingers repeating movements over my scars.  
  
  
His movements stop as that hand previously over the scars goes over his mouth, and the other one out of me. I sit up, straightaway aware of what's wrong, asking is just a formality.  
  
  
"What's wrong?" Patrick's cock begins to soften, mine is still aching but I think we all know that tonight isn't going to be special.  
  
  
"You... your scars," I bet it's too late to just let him  **not**  finish the sentence I've been dreading since we first kissed. "They're so... disgusting, I've never seem anything like them before," Fucking charming. "I can't do this, I'm sorry." Patrick gets off the bed and pulls his pants and shirt back on.  
  
  
"Patrick, wait--" I get up, he pushes me away.  
  
  
"Pete, no, I can't." That's the last thing he says before storming out of the apartment, I follow with no clothes, which I'm sure isn't helping my case. The door slams shut as I call out for him one more time._  
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
*****Third Person******  
  
  
Patrick eyes flash open when he wakes, blurred from the previously sound sleep. He doesn't place it instantly, it takes a moment of recollection to what he was doing last night, that it's Pete's apartment and bed. The hand on his arm scares him though, the knuckles are white, nails scratching into the skin that's red from the pressure.  
  
  
"Pete, what are you doing?" Patrick mumbles, wiggling his arm to no relief. He doesn't realize until several more attempts at freeing himself--and a body shaking against his back--to notice that Pete is dreaming. At first Patrick thinks it's a wet dream, that he should just slip out of bed and pretend he was in the bathroom, then Patrick gets out of bed to put that plan into motion, looking down at Pete, whose fists are now clenched and tears rolling down his face.  
  
  
"Hey, Pete, come on, wake up," Patrick tries shaking Pete out of his sleep; he is just about slapping at him when he finally wakes up.  
  
  
"Fuck, Patrick!" Pete pushes away, going to the corner of his bed before curling into himself, wiping the tears from his face and sighing deeply.  
  
  
"You were shaking pretty bad and left bruises on my arm, are you okay? " Patrick asks, sitting back down on the bed.  
  
  
"I'm so sorry, just fucked up dream. I gotta ask something, though," Pete unlocks himself some, eyes not looking away from his hands.  
  
  
"What is it?"  
  
  
"Do I scare you?"  
  
  
"I don't know what you mean by that."  
  
  
"Like, do the scars disgust you, or does your stomach turn if you see a fresher... scratch?" Pete never understood why, but he hasn't been a fan of the word "cutting" used in these contexts, like his stomach does a flip just at the use of it.  
  
  
"Of course it scares me for  _you_  but I'm not going to run out of here if I see any, okay?" Patrick pulls Pete over a little closer. "Was that what happened in your dream?"  
  
  
"Yeah. I've been having a lot like that lately, where I do something to upset you just by being me. It really messes with my head."  
  
  
"Pete, you know me well enough to know that it's not like that, right?"  
  
  
"Yeah, I do. I'm usually good once I realize that, but you haven't seen me so close with all my scars, you haven't run you hands over them and that's what you did in the dream, and you were all right until you did that. They're never going away and I don't want to lose you over it." Patrick can't help the slight laugh that escapes him, Pete looks at him sideways.  
  
  
"Oh, sorry. We both have some insecurities about our bodies, but yours doesn't bother me in the slightest."  
  
"And yours won't bother me ever." Pete side hugs Patrick, laying a loud and wet kiss on the side of his face. "I love so much, 'Trick."  
  
  
"Love you, Petey Panda." Pete grin grows wider as his mood is lifted for the morning, and he's sure however long Patrick is around. "How about we get a shower in, I get on my knees and show you just how little the scars bother me?"  
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
  
*****First Person Pete*****  
  
  
After the long and hot shower, Patrick is dressed in my clothes and about to head back home to continue what he was doing before I texted him last night. I'm good at holding people up, try too hard to make it worth their trouble.  
  
  
"Thanks, Pete, see you at the studio."  
  
  
"Bye, thanks for spending the night with me, it was really nice." I kiss him on the lips just before he slips out the door,  
  
  
"It was an awesome night, so any time, really." We kiss more, we say bye too many times more, and finally managed to get one out of the door. We're just so bad at slipping tongues with "see you soon"'s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized The Raven came out in 2012, but I love John Cusack and that movie was awesome so I'm doing free advertising. And I also realized I fucked up and put chapter 6 on twice my bad if you noticed.


	7. And It's Kind of Funny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ("I could go all night.")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy-smutty-filler 'cause I like buttering them up before burning them haha. :)

_*****First Person Pete*****_  
  
  
I'm quitting. So that's what I keep saying. I'm progressing (slowly) towards completely convincing myself that I am quitting, I can quit, and ultimately, I will stay clean. Now, right now, I'm five days clean. I avoid conversations about how I'm doing like the fucking plague. Like I said, I'm convincing myself, and that usually goes hand-in-hand with repressing and the "pretend you don't remember".  
  
  
Till about yesterday, I didn't feel anything differently. But now, I've noticed increased aggravation--maybe it's just me--but I also feel like I'm melting with the air conditioning on seventy. That is probably with the front and center stress, you know, everything sets your teeth on edge; everything makes your palms sweat.  
  
  
Tonight (this _evening_ more like it) I have a lot of that energy. And since I _Still Believe In Myself™_ I'm actually _thinking_ (I know, huge surprise I'd ever think anything through), I'm not going to throw away my first hard-earned five days away. I need some air. I need to get out.  
  
  
 _ *****Third Person*****_  
  
  
Pete locks up his apartment, leaving with an old hoodie, keys, and one intention. Patrick's apartment is only twenty minutes away with a paced walk, ten or fifteen with a light jog. The traffic is busy but not many people walking the sidewalk at this hour, Pete only has to weave between one group of people to get to his destination.  
  
  
If it wasn't for the elevator to Patrick's floor, he would've knocked on the door while still trying to catch his breath. Patrick answers the door, looking relaxed in his pajama pants. Pete spots his laptop and headphones on the couch from the door. "Hey, Pete. Didn't think I'd see you till tomorrow. What are you doing here?"  
  
  
"Just wanted to hang out, see what you're doing." Patrick steps aside for Pete to come in.  
  
  
"Nothing exciting, the usual and all that."  
  
  
"Can I sit around while you work?"  
  
  
Patrick laughs a bit. "Sure," Patrick gets back in his position he was in previous to Pete's sudden arrival. Pete wastes no time in kicking his shoes off and removing all but jeans. "Mind if I put my headphones on?"  
  
  
"You've got me in a rare non-talkative mood, so enjoy what you can get." Patrick smiles before putting his headphones on, as said. Pete adjusts himself to be resting his head on a couch pillow right next to Patrick's thigh, angled so he can see the laptop screen, legs curled as best he can with thigh hugging jeans on.  
  
  
Pete feels like he might be getting sleepy moments after his head lays down. Just minutes ago his body and mind was in the making of a restless night, but it felt as if as soon as Patrick opened the door he stepped into the twilight zone. All the insecurity he sees in the mirror, but when he sees those blue-greens eyes staring at him with nothing but the sweetest and purest love, he feels safe. Like the light shut down the monster for the moment.  
  
  
Pete rests peacefully, and when he wakes up Patrick is still wide-eyed, and it's dark outside. Patrick slips off his headphones and turns his head to acknowledge Pete waking up.  
  
  
"Hey, Pete?" he starts off, voice low, soft and considerate.  
  
  
"Mhmm?" It doesn't take long for Pete to blink the sleep out of his eyes and meet Patrick's.  
  
  
"I'm sure you're not going to be a fan of this, but in about three weeks I've got to go and help produce an album in L.A. It should only be a week or so, then I'll be back here."  
  
  
"No problem, I'll survive. I'm going to be cursing out the bastards that take my Pattycakes away for that long. But it's our job, love what we do, so I'll put my selfish needs aside for a week."  
  
  
"That is almost exactly what I thought I'd here if you were fine with it."  
  
  
"Well I wouldn't tell you not to do anything. We've been apart longer, and on worse terms than we'll be." Patrick closes out his laptop and sets it aside, slouching down an extra few inches. Pete rubs a slow hand on Patrick's knee in front of him, pulling on a loose tread. Patrick cards his fingers through Pete's hair, stopping at random to scratch his head. Pete is craving simple attention like that, just skin to skin contact of any kind. Goosebumps run over his body when Patrick index finger traces around the back of Pete's ear. Patrick's spare hand finds its place on top of Pete's, still over his knee; their fingers clasp, Pete pulling in his to plant a kiss on the paler man's soft and calloused hand.  
  
  
Pete kisses a little higher above their hands to nearly Patrick's elbow before he has to slouch up some more. Patrick's breath comes unsteady as Pete's lips work familiarly over the soft spot on the crook of his neck. Pete's curious finger follows along the inseam of Patrick's fleece pajamas, all the way to the front, then up the three buttons, undoing each one as he goes. Patrick slightly pushes Pete's hand away when he gets to groping over the black boxer briefs. Pete goes again, not letting anything falter his hand palming Patrick erection, heat radiating off of it.  
  
  
Patrick tries to get a word out, but he only gets Pete even hungrier and hotter on his lap, rolling his hips causing friction between the thin layers of clothing. Pete goes after his neck some more, occasionally switching to lips, sometimes chin, behind ear and such. Patrick's arms wrap around Pete's waist tight, planting his feet firm on the ground as he tries to sit up with an extra hundred and forty max pounds on him. Pete gets the memo and stands up in front of Patrick, expecting a walk to the bedroom, but instead getting carried with his legs around Patrick's waist.  
  
  
Patrick barely struggles holding Pete, however he does walk a little fast to place him on the bed. Pete pulls Patrick's shirt over his head once his hold is released, Pete is then pulling at the two strings of Patrick's pajama bottoms until they are removed. Patrick kisses Pete's collar bone hard, surely leaving bruises behind as his trail. Patrick kisses Pete's rib-cage, down above his belly button before stealing away those uncomfortable jeans for the floor to wear. Pete spreads his legs brazenly for Patrick, revealing all of himself now.  
  
  
The shamelessness Pete is feeling showing himself like this must be radiating from him, he thinks when he feels Patrick's tongue glide from his balls to the head of his cock. " _Wow,_ " Pete shivers. Patrick's face is consumed by a type of grin Pete's never seen from him as their eyes lock and Patrick crawls up Pete to open his nightstand drawer. He grabs a bottle of lube, snapping open and the cap and spreading it on two fingers before putting it back and shutting the drawer Pete watching intently.  
  
  
"Well, well, well, what have you been hiding it that 'ere drawer?" Pete grins and raises a very curious eyebrow.  
  
  
"Oh shut up. I bet your drawer looks exactly the same. I'd bet even worse." Patrick goes back down and kisses the marked thighs, Pete just hums in response. Patrick fingers find themselves circling around Pete's hole, teasing the tips a couple times before trying one finger to first knuckle. Pete's breath escapes him completely when the finger goes in further and Patrick's warm mouth meets the head of his cock.  
  
  
Patrick's crisp green-blue eyes only unlock from Pete's to blink and visa versa. Patrick's finger becomes two, they curl, his tongue swirls and Pete is only concerned that all the gray matter from his brain might be on the wall. Pete places the hand not on his stomach onto the back of Patrick's head, fingers carding through his hair to resist the urge of pushing it down.  
  
  
Patrick goes a little further down on Pete, free hand holding his position as best he can. Pete can barely form full noises and just sticks to when the air can't get to his lungs and he gasps for breath as the noise to fill the silent, scarcely lit apartment bedroom.  
  
  
Pete knows he'll never last as long as he usually does with Patrick's gift from god fingers inside of him, but he holds out as best he can. Pete feels his body start to tighten, his heart rate speeding. Pete lolls his head back onto Patrick's pillow, and warns Patrick he's almost there but he doesn't relent.  
  
  
Pete spills into Patrick's mouth, hips threatening to buck forward but politeness pulling back. Patrick withdrawals from Pete's member, cheeks puffed out and swollen red lips sealed. Patrick closes his eyes and his face distorts comically disgusted by the taste when he tilts his head back to swallow. Pete gives Patrick a thumbs up with a middle finger reply.  
  
  
Pete pulls Patrick closer into a kiss, for an easier time switching their positions. Pete drags Patrick's boxers down with him, Patrick's straining cock bobbing, and leaking pre-cum. Pete doesn't play around, but goes straight down, pushing his gag reflex aside for the moment as he takes more than half of Patrick in. He hums to focus his breathing a bit more, and it drives Patrick over the edge quickly. Patrick comes deep in Pete's throat with a shudder, and a melodic noise, then Pete pulls off hastily with a _pop._  
  
  
Patrick's breath returns to him in ragged spurts. "Damn, Pete, I didn't know you could do that."  
  
  
"To be honest, I didn't either. So we're lucky: that could've ended badly." Pete laughs and sits up, crammed next to Patrick. Patrick rolls to his side, inching closer to the wall to leave room for Pete. Pete's body almost automatically curls around Patrick's under the covers. "Nighty-night." Pete breathes into the crook of Patrick's neck where his face resides.  
  
  
"Night," Pete pins their bodies together so not much choice in the matter of no movement during sleep. Pete's hand finds it desired spot on Patrick's warm and bare stomach, tracing circles as best it can.


End file.
